


Without a Trace

by SPowell



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Angst, First Time, M/M, POV First Person, art by hm_f
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-28 14:25:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SPowell/pseuds/SPowell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winner of two Ollie awards: <br/>Best Long Story<br/>the Blondie Award--best Hutch-centered story</p><p>When kidnapped from his home by a vengeful con, Hutch ends up with amnesia and on the streets. As Starsky searches for him, Hutch struggles with a blank past and loss of identity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without a Trace

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me. I am just borrowing them!
> 
> Note: Yes, they end up together, quit worrying!
> 
> Art by hm_f  
> AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/users/Nizah  
> lj: http://hm-f.livejournal.com/

**Without a Trace**

**Dale City, CA.**

**A back alley**

 

The first thing I notice is cold.

The wall I’m leaning against is cold. The pavement under my ass is cold.  And I feel cold inside.

I look around me at the dirty, damp alley. Confusion and fear mingle with baser feelings like hunger and exhaustion, conspiring to bring me to my feet and stagger forward. I fall almost immediately.

“Hey,” says a voice from behind me. I jump, turn, and see a guy. He’s slim, a little shorter than I am, has longish brown hair, a long, narrow nose, and wide mouth. His eyes are brown and lively. He’s wearing an old pair of jeans and a brown, silky shirt open several buttons. Worn boots on his feet, and a jacket slung over his shoulder. He’s not one of _them._ “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle ya. You look like you could use some help.”

I blink a few times, unsure. He seems friendly enough, and what choice do I have?

He offers me his hand. “I’m Joey. Come with me, if ya want. My apartment’s just around the corner. You can rest some.”

I follow him.

***

Joey’s place is small and sparse, but very clean. I sit down on the old sofa.

“You want something to drink?” Joey offers.

“Sure. Anything’s fine.”

Joey brings me a beer. “What’s your name?”

I look at him. His brown eyes simply hold curiosity. “I-I don’t know.”

Joey sits down beside me and opens his beer. “No shit? You really don’t know? You got amnesia or something?” He starts drinking, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

“I guess.”

“How come you were in that alley?” Joey wants to know.

I shrug, starting to feel pretty stupid. I run a hand through my hair, look at the beer bottle in my hand, then drink some of it. My right hand is scraped up.

“Man, it must really suck not knowin’ who you are,” Joey says, and he’s right. It really does suck. “So what’s the last thing you remember?”

I try to think. My head hurts so bad. I lift a hand and feel the back…about three inches above my neck there’s a big lump. I wince, because it hurts when my fingers touch it, and Joey leans over and gently probes it.

“Wow,” he says. “That’s some goose egg.”  I move away from him a little, not trusting. He doesn’t seem to take offense.

I’m still thinking about his question. “I remember waking up and hearing some guys talking…” I run my tongue over my lips. “They were arguing about who was gonna kill me, I think. I-I hit one of them and ran. They chased me, but I kept taking different turns, hiding behind stuff. When I finally lost them, I ended up in that alley.”

“And you ain’t got no idea who you are? What about a wallet?”

I stand up and start feeling around in my pockets. I have on a pair of tan corduroy pants and a green T-shirt. Socks and brown lace-up shoes. No jacket. No wallet. I shake my head, sit back down and hold my beer, staring into space.

“Maybe I should take you by the hospital,” Joey says. “Somebody’s gotta be looking for you, and you may have a concussion.”

“One of the men who was chasing me kept shouting that he’d find me no matter what.” I look at Joey to see what his reaction is to this bit of information.

“No, shit. You think they’re out there lookin’ for you?” Joey glances out the window.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” I say, remembering how angry the men had sounded. I wonder why they want to kill me. I must’ve done something pretty bad to make them want me to “pay”. I don’t know what I should do. I feel confused and disoriented. I remember running from those guys, but past that, I hit a wall. “What should I do?” I ask Joey.

He seems to be thinking about it. “How long were you in that alley?” he asks me after a time.

“Not too long. Maybe ten minutes before you came along. Just enough time to catch my breath.”

“You should stay here tonight,” Joey says with finality. “No sense in you going back out there and getting murdered by whoever it is wants to find you. I gotta go out and work tonight, but you can stay in and at least have a roof over your head.”

“That’s really nice of you, Joey,” I say. “Where do you work?”

Joey laughs, a pleasant sound. “I get around, you know.” When he sees by my face that I obviously don’t know, he adds, “I work on the streets. Sell myself for money.” He puffs up like a bantem rooster, obviously expecting me to go off on him or something.

I think about what he said, not sure how I feel. It doesn’t shock me or particularly repulse me. I just feel dead inside. Like maybe nothing can possibly shock me. “Oh,” I say.

Joey relaxes and laughs again. “You’d do well out there, you’re such a looker. Some guys pay big bucks for blonds.”

I reach up and touch my hair. _So I’m blond._

“You don’t even know what you look like, do ya?” Joey asks seriously. Then he gets up from the sofa and goes to a drawer. He comes back with a hand mirror and holds it up for me to look. I am blond. My eyes are blue. My mouth is kind of wide and my lips full. My teeth are good, fairly straight and white. I guess I’m not bad looking.

“What do ya think, Don Juan?” Joey asks, smiling.

“I guess I’m okay,” I say.

“Well, I wouldn’t kick ya out of my bed,” Joey tells me, and I can feel myself blushing. Joey finds this really funny. “I wonder how old you are. Probably thirtyish.”

It’s so weird not knowing. It makes me uncomfortable and scared. Vulnerable.

“I gotta have something to call you. Are ya sure you don’t have no idea what your name is?”

 I think really hard.

“What’s the first name that pops up in your head?”

I don’t have any names popping up in my head, so Joey starts naming off all the boys’ names he can think of. When he gets to one, I stop him.

“David?” he says again. “That sound familiar? Okay, then, David it is.”

I’m comfortable with David. It is the first familiar thing I’ve encountered.

Joey shows me where some stuff is to make a sandwich, tells me to help myself, then goes to shower and change. I get some ice and a towel and hold it to my throbbing head. It feels like I’ve done this before. I wonder if I get banged up a lot, and why. Maybe I’m not such a nice guy. Maybe I did something to one of those guy’s sisters or something. Maybe I took money from them. Why else would they want me to pay? And the way I was running and hiding from them…seems like I’m used to running and hiding.

This brings a new thought. What if I’m running from the law? If I go to a hospital, I’ll get taken to jail. Better to wait things out a bit and see what happens.

****

**Bay City, CA.**

**Metro Police Station**

“I’m tellin’ you, Cap, this is Ben Forest all over again,” I say, pacing Dobey’s office. My superior hasn’t moved from his seat, but the frown on his face tells me he’s concerned. He just likes to try to think of all the possibilities.

“Hutchinson could be anywhere, Starsky.”

“Not without his gun,” I say. “Not without his _wallet_!” I wave the latter in front of his face. “Something’s happened to him.”

Dobey sighs. “Got any idea what?”

I think hard about every case we’ve worked in the last few months. Who would want to hurt Hutch? My stomach clenches at the thought.

“Somebody took him. Either to get information from him or to hurt him.”

“Pull every case you two have worked in the past six months,” Dobey says. “Have Minnie check any recent prison releases. I’ll put an APB out on him.”

***

**Dale City, CA**

**Joey’s Apartment**

When Joey gets home, I’m lying on his threadbare couch staring at the dark ceiling.

“Have a good night?” I ask him.

“You still awake, David? Thought you’d be long asleep by now.”

“Can’t sleep. My mind keeps going, only nothing’s in it. All I have to think about are the past six hours.”

Joey sits on the only other piece of furniture in the room: a worn-out chair. “Nothin’s come to you yet?”

“Nope.” I sigh. “I keep thinking, though, for some reason…that maybe the cops are after me.”

“Really?”

“I don’t know why, but I think I’ve done something wrong. Like maybe killed somebody or something.” For some reason I’m not worried, telling Joey this. I just don’t think he’d turn me in. Maybe I’m a fool. Who the hell knows what I am?

“You think you killed somebody? Naw, David, I don’t think you’d do that. You just don’t seem the type.”

I swallow hard, the need to voice my fears conquering all discretion. “Joey, I just know I’ve killed before. I know it. I’ve been lying here going over all that I know…which isn’t much. Those guys were mad because of something I did. Something bad, I think, because I can’t shake the feeling that the cops are looking for me, too. And when I think of bad things I might’ve done in my life, killing somebody keeps coming to mind. With a gun. I think I’ve shot somebody. Maybe more than once.”

Joey is silent for a few minutes. “Well, you don’t gotta worry about me. I won’t say anything to nobody. But what’re you gonna do? Sounds like maybe you got both sides of the law after you.”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll take a bus somewhere.”

“You gotta have money for that. Look, David. This probably ain’t your chosen profession or anything, but hustlin’ can earn you some quick cash if you’re any good at it. I’m just doing it until I can save enough to go to Texas where I got an uncle.”

“How old are you, Joey?” I ask, looking at his young features in the semi-darkness. A neon sign outside for a stripper club is flashing orange and blue on his face.

“Just turned twenty-three.”

“And you’re all alone here? No family?”

Joey looks uncomfortable, but he seems to trust me. “They died. It’s just me now. Has been for a while.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What’re you sorry for? Least I can remember what I had.” He stands up and goes to a closet, taking out a blanket. “Here, in case you get cold.” He hands it to me. Then he walks over to the wall and pulls on something, and an old rickety bed pops out. He makes it up, pulls off his clothes, and lies down.

“What’s it like?” I ask him. “Hustling, I mean.”

“It’s okay, if the Johns ain’t violent.”

“I wouldn’t know what to do,” I say, not sure if I’m up for this or not. Have I ever had sex with a man? Have I ever had sex at all? Being at least thirty and “a looker”, I must have had opportunities.

“Just do whatever they want. You can just blow ‘em, but that’s only twenty bucks, or sometimes ten. Ask for twenty first, and sometimes they’ll give it. You gotta go all the way to get fifty.”

I think about that. It will take quite a few sexual acts for me to get the money to leave town and start new somewhere. New. I don’t even know about Old.

“Maybe you’ll get your memory back,” Joey says from his bed. I watch the neon colors flashing over the floor. “You won’t have to hustle for long. Go out on the street with me tomorrow night, David. It’s the only way you can make fast cash without being too visible.”

I grunt a maybe and roll over, signaling I’m going to sleep. But I stay awake for a long time.

***

**Bay City**

**Metro Station**

I’ve been up all night. I don’t know how many cups of coffee I’ve had. I’ve been over every case Hutch and me have had for the last eight months. I just can’t figure out who would’ve taken him. I decide I’m going to head home for a shower and maybe thirty minutes of shut eye. I’m not doing Hutch any good sitting here nodding off and jerking myself awake every couple a minutes.

I get a few sympathetic looks as I leave the station, but I ignore them. Too much sympathy, and I might break. And I can’t afford to do that.

Once in my apartment, I force down some cereal and get undressed. I haven’t been home since early yesterday morning. It was when I went by Hutch’s after work yesterday that I discovered him missing. We were supposed to go out to this new club that opened up over on Sunset. I knew as soon as I saw the partially opened front door that something was wrong.

There’d been no real sign of a struggle, but it looked to me like Hutch had taken off his jacket, which had his wallet in the pocket, and his gun, and then vanished. His car was still outside, the hood warm. If I hadn’t stopped at the post office on our way to his house, I would’ve been right behind him. I curse myself for that for about the hundredth time as I turn on the shower and step under its spray.

One of these days this has got to end—the danger and the fear. It isn’t me I worry about; it’s my partner. I’m afraid for him when we’re out on the streets. Afraid of him taking a bullet. Afraid of things like what’s happening now—some asshole taking revenge out on him for doing his job. Somebody had to have grabbed Hutch and taken him out of his apartment. The restaurant downstairs hadn’t opened for the dinner crowd yet. Nobody had seen or heard anything. I don’t have a clue to go on. I feel as helpless as I did when Forest’s goons took him; as helpless as when Humphries had put the hit out on him; and it scares the shit out of me. There ain’t nothing worse than feeling helpless when it’s my  partner’s life on the line. Nothing. Taking care of him is too ingrained in me. I love him too much.

As I towel off, I walk into the living room and notice something I hadn’t seen when I’d walked in. There’s a piece of paper on the floor near the front door. I walk over and pick it up by the corner, shaking it open.

_You pigs need to learn some manners. You were lucky you weren’t there with him, or you’d be dead, too._

A chill runs through me, and the cereal threatens to make a re-appearance. I close my eyes and tell myself that this note doesn’t necessarily mean Hutch is dead. I start a mental run-through of all the perps Hutch and me might have insulted lately. He’s played bad cop to plenty of culprits in the interrogation room, and if I’ve gotta go through that list along with everyone he’s busted or just pissed off out on the street, it’s gonna be a long one. I slip the note into a plastic bag, doubting I’ll be lucky enough to get prints off of it, but knowing I have to try, and go into the bedroom. I set the alarm for an hour and lie down, Hutch on my mind.

Always on my mind.

***

**Dale City**

Joey has loaned me some money so we can pick up something for me to wear at Goodwill.  This consists of tight jeans and an aqua V-necked shirt. He fusses with my sleeves—pushing them mid-way up my arms—and puts some kind of gel in my hair. I’m not nervous or anything. Being dead inside has its advantages. I wonder if I’m married, but I don’t have a ring on or even a tan line on my finger. I don’t feel married. I don’t feel like what I’m gonna do is totally foreign to me, either. These people standing on the corners are people I’m used to talking to. I know that I’m used to the streets.

Joey is selective who I go with my first few times. He sends me with Johns he knows won’t cheat me or try to hurt me. They also don’t ask for anything but blow jobs, which I manage without too much trouble. I just try to imagine what I’d like done to myself. It always goes pretty quickly—the money is slapped in my hand, I kneel down, do my thing, and they’re gone.  All in all, the night isn’t bad. I wonder if I should feel demeaned or something, and what it means that I don’t. Maybe I never had any morals to begin with.

I notice some faint marks along my left arm that make me wonder even more about myself. I don’t feel compelled to do drugs now, but the fact that the marks are there only cements my intuition about a seedy past.  I think I can rule out preacher, cop, teacher, and most other respected professions, anyway.

Joey and I have some good times besides our work on the streets. He’s an avid reader, and I find that I recognize a lot of the titles he has in his big stack of books in the hall closet. They’re all from used books stores and trading libraries. We discuss some of them, and I wonder why I can remember plots of books and not my life.

“You think you had a traumatic experience?” Joey wonders one evening over pizza.

“You mean besides almost being murdered? I don’t know. The hit on my head is most likely the reason I can’t remember.”

“You ever try to remember way far back? Like your childhood? You think you had a good one or a bad one?” Joey picks the green peppers off his pizza and sets them on the side of his plate, then sucks the grease off his index finger and thumb.

I think about it. “I don’t know if I’m making stuff up or remembering, but I think there was snow where I lived. I think I had a dog, too. Maybe horses.”

“Well, that’s something,” Joey says.

I’ve insisted on paying Joey rent. I don’t feel comfortable finding my own place, and he says we’ll make all the money we need faster if we split the rent, which is a good point. He’s shown me the ropes out on the street and we average about six Johns a night each. Ten if we’re lucky. It doesn’t take long to turn a trick, especially if it’s just giving head, and a lot of the time we just do that around the corner in an alley. Joey’s steered me away from the kinkier clients, although he sometimes takes one since the pay is better. He has a few regulars who frequent the gentlemen’s club. I haven’t let one fuck me yet. Joey’s shown me how to loosen myself up so that when I do, it won’t hurt as bad. I’ve been doing it, but I still haven’t taken anyone up on a fuck.

“You wanna try it with me first?” Joey asks me one night when we come in and I’ve only done blow jobs all night again.

“What? You mean fucking?” At his nod, I think about it. Maybe doing it with someone I know will make it easier when the time comes, and if I don’t start doing it with clients soon, I’m not going to bring cash in very fast.

I shrug. “Okay, I guess.”

Joey gets undressed and watches me do the same. I notice he gets hard while he’s watching me. That’s okay, since we’re not going to get very far with this if he isn’t hard. I’m surprised that I get stiff myself, since I haven’t before with any of the Johns.  I wonder if I’m straight, gay, or bi. I seem to have a healthy lust for some of the women I’ve seen walking by. I wonder if I had someone special in my life.

Joey walks over to me. He has a nice body—slim and toned. He has nice, defined abs and strong, muscled legs. His cock isn’t huge, but it isn’t little, either. I’m not sure which I’d rather it be at this moment. He surprises me by placing his hand on my neck and leaning in and kissing me. I wasn’t expecting that. I kiss him back, and it feels nice. Joey is a clean guy, and he tastes good. After a minute, he pushes his tongue into my mouth, and I open up to take it in. He’s exploring everywhere, and I give as much as I get. Joey’s hand slides down my chest.

“Mmm. I like how smooth your chest is,” he says into my mouth. His chest has some hair on it, and I move my fingers through it. He pulls us close, and our groins touch, sending bolts of pleasure throughout my nerves. I move my hands around and grip his ass, which is firm and tight.

After a few moments, Joey goes and gets the lubricant he keeps in his jacket pocket. “We need to do this the easiest way,” he says, and spreads a quilt out on the floor. “Lie down, David, on your side,” he tells me, and I comply. He settles behind me and I can hear him greasing himself up. Then he pushes my left leg so that it approaches my chest and rubs the lube in my crack, settling on my asshole and running circles around it with his finger. It feels good, and I tell him so. His breath is warm on my neck. “Good, ‘cause I want to make you feel good,” he says throatily. He begins to nibble my earlobe, and as soon as my breathing quickens, he pokes a greasy finger inside me. I jump a little, but he whispers encouragement in my ear and begins moving it in and out of me.

I’m surprised at how good it is after the initial feeling of invasion. Pretty soon he’s got me going, and that’s when he inserts a second finger.

“God, David, you are so beautiful when you’re being fucked,” he tells me, and he sounds really sincere about it. I’m sweating and panting, and pushing back on his fingers. He puts a third one in and I accept it without a problem. He withdraws his hand and the next thing I know he’s pushed his prick up into me. It hurts a little, but he takes it slow, and pretty soon I am able to relax and enjoy the feeling of fullness. He starts pumping, moving around a bit behind me until I feel an amazing sensation that starts my heart beating wildly.

“That’s it, stud, I think I’ve hit the magic button.” He moves more urgently, staying in that one spot, until I’m crazy with the sensation.

“Oh yeaaahhh…” I sigh as he begins to earnestly pound into me. He reaches around with his left hand, takes my now rock-hard cock, stroking me to a high plane of pleasure. “Oh, yes!” I yell, and then come hard, my inner muscles gripping him and tripping his release.

“Oh, man!” he calls out before collapsing behind me and withdrawing from my body. I turn and lie on my back, staring at the crack in the ceiling.

“That was more enjoyable than I thought it was going to be,” I deadpan, and Joey breaks up laughing.

***

**Bay City**

**Starsky’s apartment**

“Aw, Hutch, where the hell are you?” I ask his picture. It’s the one of him lounging outside at some party we were at. He looks so bright and beautiful, I want to cry. With his crisp white shirt unbuttoned partway, and his casual pose, he could be a 1940’s movie star. It’s been over a week, and I’m no closer to finding him than I was at the beginning. He’s simply disappeared without a trace. Not surprisingly, there were no prints on the note left at my apartment. All possibilities I’ve followed have led to dead ends. I even checked on Ben Forest, but found that he’s been in solitary due to bad behavior.

I’ve been over to Hutch’s apartment to water his plants and take in his mail. It’s so quiet there, I can’t stand it. The more time that goes by, the harder it is for me to make up possible reasons why he hasn’t turned up. At least there hasn’t been a body. I’ve been to the morgue so many times to look at John Does, I’m developing an ulcer from the stress of it. Dobey actually went the last two times, probably feeling sorry for me. Why so many unknown men are turning up dead this past week, I have no idea, but it’s killing me. It’s gotten so that every time the phone rings, my stomach becomes a hard ball of fire and I feel like I’m gonna puke.

I’ve taken to cruising the streets every night, sometimes all night. I can’t sleep, and I’m barely eating. I miss Hutch so bad, I don’t know what to do. He’s such a huge part of my life; I’m lost without him. Dobey’s put me on leave. He says I’m no good to him like this. A lot of the guys in the department are spending their spare time looking for Hutch. People really love him, but that doesn’t surprise me—he’s real easy to love.

***

**Dale City**

**7 th and Vine**

“Hello, pretty boy,” a man says to me. I’ve never seen him before. I’ve lost a lot of the fear I had every time a stranger approached me—I think I’d recognize the thugs who had me before, anyway. It scares me more when the cops come around. I always duck out of sight then.

This guy is dressed nicely and is driving a Mercedes Benz. I give him a nod and take a step toward the car and his open window.

“Interested in making $500.00 tonight?” he asks me. I am immediately wary.

“Depends,” I say. “I’m not into anything kinky.”

“No, no. Not kinky. My friend just wants someone of a certain description, and you fit the bill. And he wants you all night.”

I look over at Joey, who has come close and I know is listening. He shrugs, signaling that it’s my call.

“Your _friend_?” I say to the guy.

“My employer, actually. Will you come?”

With another quick glance at Joey, I get in the car. It’s hard to turn down $500.00. I just hope this guy isn’t a weirdo. We drive to an upscale part of town where we enter the parking garage of a high rise apartment building. Upon boarding the elevator, we proceed to the penthouse. I don’t say anything the entire way, and neither does the guy who picked me up.

The elevator door opens up to the living room of the penthouse apartment. It has an amazing view of the city, which is lit up right now by thousands of tiny lights. I stand admiring it while the driver goes to speak to his employer. Then I hear him leave and I turn to find another man leaning against the doorframe. He is tall, around fifty, with salt-and-pepper hair and rather steely gray eyes.  He’s dressed only in an expensive-looking smoking jacket, and has an unlit cigar he keeps moving around in his mouth.

He looks me over. “My, you are more than I’d hoped for,” he says in a voice gravelly from long years of smoking. “What’s your name, beautiful?”

“David,” I say, now used to the name.

“Appropriate. Well, David…I assume Richard told you I’m paying for the night. Would you follow me, please?” He turned and walked away. I trail him to the bedroom, where he gives me a silk robe and instructs me to shower in the adjoining bathroom. “Use plenty of the soap that’s in there,” he tells me. “It’s sandalwood. My favorite.”

I obey, feeling detached. This is my job, and I just do it. As I’m washing in the spacious shower, relaxing under the smooth and somehow familiar scent of the soap, I become suddenly aware that the client is watching me. I ignore him, and continue, giving him a little show in the way I lather myself up. Suddenly, he is naked and in the shower with me. His chest is covered in the same, wiry, salt-and-pepper hair that is on his head. His body is compact and fairly firm for his age. His prick is large and standing at attention.  He looks me up and down, his eyes approving. Reaching out, he strokes my cock. “You are a beautiful man, David, but I’m sure you’ve heard that before. You’re rather wasted out on the street.”  I harden in his grip, and he chuckles. “and randy, too. Lucky me.  I can’t wait to have those long legs around me.” He kisses my neck. “You can call me Bruno, by the way.”

Bruno seats himself on the tiled bench jutting out from one side of the large shower. He turns on the other showerhead and puts it on mist. Then he turns the one I’ve just rinsed under on mist, also. I feel like we’re in a rainforest or some tropical forest, especially with all the plants hanging in the large window. I really like the plants. Just like the smell of the sandalwood soap, they give me a contented feeling, even as I’m being paid for sex with a stranger.

“Come straddle me, David,” Bruno directs, and I walk over to him, widen my stance, and stand over his lap. He runs large, callused hands over my chest and abdomen then lingers over the indentations above my hips.  His hands move back to feel the muscles in my ass and then my thighs as I strain to keep my position. He kisses me just above my navel, moving downward until his tongue is thrusting inside the divet. I remain motionless, although the muscles in my legs are starting to shake. The smell of the sandalwood soap is surrounding me, floating on the mist from the showerheads. It comforts me as Bruno puts his mouth all over me.

This is new, since the Johns usually just want me to do things to them. I am surprisingly aroused, and this seems to get Bruno off. Soon, he pulls me closer. Reaching over his head, he takes a tube out of the basket holding an array of expensive soaps and shampoos. He squeezes some gel on his fingers and directs me to lower myself and balance on his legs while he proceeds to lubricate the inside of my ass. While he does this, he nibbles on my neck. He appears to be fascinated by that part of my anatomy—my neck, that is—and covers it with gentle bites. His fingers are careful, but thorough. I am soon ready for him.

Placing his hands on my hips, he moves me closer, then lowers me onto his stiff prick. As I take him in, he throws his head back against the tiled wall and moans with pleasure. The mist and steam surround us and he begins to undulate, pushing farther into me. I brace my arms on the wall behind him, riding him as he moves beneath me, grunting his desire.  “That’s it…that’s it,” he groans. “Ride me, my lovely blond stallion…” He takes hold of my cock and pumps it until I come, my ass gripping him tightly. I bite my lip, refusing to put words to my pleasure while working, unless specifically directed.  I assume he purposely got me off for the benefit of the rectal spasms on his prick, for he shouts his release seconds later. After he washes, we move out of the shower and into the bedroom.

Bruno tells me he needs to “recharge”. He has a silver plate full of fruit and glasses of champagne, and he offers some to me. I accept, along with the blue silk robe he hands me. I lounge on a cushioned chair and watch while he dries off and puts the smoking jacket back on. He then sits opposite me and toasts me with his champagne.

After a time, he asks me to suck him, and I do, while he sits in the large chair and watches me. He tells me he likes to see me kneeling and doing this to him, likes watching my blond head bobbing over him. After he comes, he directs me to the bed, where he just wants to watch me fondle myself.

The night passes this way, and ends with me on my hands and knees on the bear skin rug in the living room and him pounding into me while the sun rises over the city. All in all it wasn’t too bad, especially since he seemed determined that I enjoy it, and when he gives me an extra two hundred dollars, I think it was worth it. I am now closer to my escape from this town and whatever past I’m running from.

***

**The outskirts of Bay City**

**Starsky’s Torino**

I refuse to give up hope. Hutch is my buddy, and he’s alive out there somewhere. I’m gonna find him if it’s the last thing I do. I only wish I knew where to look. The search has spread outside of Bay City. I have already sent pictures of Hutch to all the precincts within a two hundred mile radius. All the hospitals have been checked, as well as all the morgues.

I go to bars, delis, strip clubs, movie houses, restaurants, motels---everywhere I can think of looking for him. I show his picture everywhere I go, but nobody’s seen him. I’m not gonna give up, though. I’m gonna find my partner.

There hasn’t been any further communication from the kidnappers. I can’t help but picture Hutch’s body dumped somewhere for some poor sap to come upon by accident, but I push this from my mind. I gotta believe Hutch is still alive, or I’ll go crazy.

***

**Dale City**

**Bruno’s Penthouse Apartment**

I lie in bed with Bruno while he smokes and talks on the phone, making business deals. He works in exports of some kind, but I don’t know the details. I get the feeling that I usually like to pay attention to details, but I ignore the urge to do it now. What does a hustler need to know, anyway?

The last time Bruno made a business call, he had me suck him while he was talking. He kept having to cover the phone while he gasped and groaned.

It was weird, but it’s the job. I’ve seen weirder.

He paid me extra again for that night. I’m supposed to be saving up to leave town, but as time goes by, and nobody seems to be looking for me, I relax a little. Since I’m making so much money seeing Bruno every week or so, I tell Joey that we are going to move someplace nicer, and I’ll pay the majority. Joey doesn’t argue, because he likes having me around, plus we spotted a large rat in the apartment the other day. We agreed that the rats and the roaches are warring for dominance of the place, and we need to split before we get caught in the cross fire.

On this night, Bruno seems content to let me lie naked while he talks and fondles me. After he hangs up, he smokes a while, then asks me if I’d like to earn even more money.

“How?” I ask. Bruno seems to be pretty harmless, but you never know.

“I have a friend who is interested in your services. He will pay you well.”

“I don’t do kinky,” I tell him. “No whips, chains, handcuffs...”

“I don’t think his taste sways that way,” Bruno tells me. “But would you object to a threesome?”

“A threesome?” I echo.

“Myself, my friend, and you,” Bruno clarifies, running his hand through my hair. “We would each pay half a grand for the experience.”

A thousand dollars in one night. How can I pass that up?

So I go to bed with two men. My ass and my mouth end up a bit sore, but I have the down payment for our new apartment, so I’m happy. Bruno is getting pretty fond of me. His driver picks me up at least twice a week now. The money’s good, and I don’t have to worry about getting somebody crazy, so I’m okay with it. But soon after the threesome, he says he’s interested in “keeping” me. In other words, setting me up someplace and I’d only work for him. I tell him I don’t think so. After all, I don’t plan on doing this for long, and I don’t like the idea of being “kept”. I can tell Bruno doesn’t appreciate being turned down, but that’s tough shit.

One night shortly after Joey and I have moved into our new place, I take the night off, and am surprised when Joey comes barreling in before it’s even midnight.

“David!” he calls, all out of breath.

“What is it?” I ask, coming out of my bedroom where I’ve been trying on the new clothes I bought recently. Bruno likes me to look a certain way, and he offered to buy me clothes, but I refused. I don’t want to feel like he owns me.

When Joey catches his breath, he says, “There was a policeman lookin’ for you!”

“What?” My heart trips. I can’t believe it. I’d almost forgotten my fear that the cops were after me.

“Yeah, these two cops showed your picture to Greta. She was working by the Rivoli. She told ‘em she’d never seen you before.”

I let out the breath I’d been holding.  “I owe her one,” I say.

“What’re you gonna do?” Joey wants to know. His brown eyes are worried.

“What can I do? I guess just keep avoiding the cops. Maybe they’ll be satisfied with what Greta said and won’t come around anymore.” I fold up my clothes and put them away. “Anyone else seen anything?”

“Tommy’s kept his eyes open, but he says no. If the cops ask him, you know he’ll cover for you, too.”

Tommy is another of us rentboys. He’s putting himself through college by hustling. I have the dubious honor of being the oldest hustler in Dale City.

Joey comes over and puts his arms around me. He hugs me for a few minutes, and I feel better. I’m so lucky to have found a friend I can trust. Without Joey, I don’t know what I would do.

He pulls away and kisses me. It feels nice, so I kiss him back. Joey and I don’t fool around much, because hell—that’s all we do at work. But we both avoid kissing people on the job, since we feel there’s got to be something that remains sacred. So kissing each other doesn’t make us think of work.

I tell him about Bruno’s offer.

“Are you nuts?” he asks me, plainly flabbergasted by my refusal. “You’d be set up for life.”

“But I’m planning on getting out of here,” I remind him.

Joey can’t argue with that. He says he might’ve before the cops showed up today, but now he’s got to wonder if I’m right about running from the law.  “But David, what if they’re just lookin’ for you ‘cause you’re a missing person?”

I tick off the points against me on my fingers. “I’ve got some pretty mean sons-of-bitches angry with me; I remember shooting somebody at least once; and the police are looking for me. That doesn’t sound like the average missing person.”

Joey isn’t willing to give up on his estimation of my good character. “You coulda shot somebody in the war, ya know. You coulda gotten mixed up with those characters for perfectly innocent reasons. I don’t know why you insist on paintin’ yourself as some kind of thug.”

“I’ve just got to be careful,” I sigh, not knowing how to explain my feelings to Joey.

He agrees with that at least, and we drop the subject.

 

The next night we head out on the street together, joking around before taking up our separate posts. By two AM we’ve both made what we feel is enough money for the night, so we head to the all-night pancake house around the corner from our place. Something about the way Joey orders a triple stack with extra bacon strikes a chord with my memory, but hell if I know why. I’ve stopped trying so hard to remember things; it just depresses me. This is my life now, and for all I know, my old life isn’t worth remembering anyway.

As we’re leaving the place, a large man barrels through the door just as I’m coming out of it.

“Watch it, Blondie,” he says gruffly, pushing past me.

I freeze where I stand, all kinds of emotions assaulting me at once.

“What’s the matter, David?” Joey’s stopped in his tracks and is staring at me. I want to adjust my facial expression, because I know I’m standing there with my mouth open and some kind of strange look on my face. I know this because of the concerned look on Joey’s face, but I can’t do anything but feel this wave of—something ---washing over me.

“You remembering?” Joey asks me, stepping over and putting his hand on my arm. For some reason, that only makes the feelings stronger. I close my eyes and try to empty my mind, but it’s no use.

“It was that guy calling me ‘Blondie’,” I finally explain, letting out all the air in my lungs and kind of sagging. “But I don’t know what it means.”  Joey pats my back reassuringly. “Don’t worry, it’s all gonna come back eventually,” he tells me.

“I think that’s what I’m afraid of,” I say. We walk on, and as we turn the corner, a couple guys step out of the shadows and hurry in the opposite direction. I look and see that they’ve been making a connection with a dealer.

“What’s he selling?” I ask Joey. I know he doesn’t do drugs, and he knows the same about me, but I’m curious because I’ve seen this guy a lot around here.

“Horse,” Joeys says, and I shiver involuntarily.

“You cold?” Joey asks me.

“A little,” I lie, and start walking again.  I think about the marks on my arm and feel sick.

***

The next time Bruno’s driver picks me up and drops me off at the penthouse, Bruno seems agitated. As soon as the elevator door shuts, he has me against the wall and my pants around my ankles. He does me like that, driving in me hard and fast. It hurts like hell, but I bite my lip and take it.

Afterward, he just wants me to lounge naked in front of the fire while he smokes his cigar and stares.  His strange mood continues into the night. He showers with me, insisting on soaping me up himself. The sandlewood plays on the edges of my memory, but nothing becomes clear. Then Bruno sucks me off, toying with me, bringing me to the edge and then slacking off, until I can’t help it-- I’m shouting. He releases my prick and watches my come spray the wall. The look in his eyes is triumphant. He knows he made me lose control, and he likes that. He pulls me to him, hungry and possessive. I’m uncomfortable and a little afraid.

“Why won’t you agree to let me get you a place? Be my lover and I’ll give you whatever you want.” He tells me before I leave. I search my mind for some excuse he’ll accept. I don’t want to lose his patronage because it pays so well, but fuck if I’ll agree to be his personal boy toy.

“I live with a friend. He counts on me to help him out,” I say. “I’m not leaving him.” Bruno looks like he wants to argue, but holds back.

***

The rest of the week is not particularly lucrative. Saturday night is slower than usual, and as I stand on my spot on the corner of 7th Street and Vine Avenue, I notice one of the girls—Polly, I think her name is—over on the next block arguing with some guy. I watch, wondering what’s going on. I don’t know if it’s a John or her pimp, but he looks pretty angry. He grabs her by the arm and starts yanking at her, hard enough to pull her arm out of the socket. I can’t help it, I just automatically take off—sprint down the street as fast as I can and hurl myself on the guy. I take him completely by surprise, so it isn’t hard to knock him on his back. I slam my fist into his face. Polly is crying, and Joey runs over from across the street.

“Hey, David, what’s goin’ on?” he asks, grabbing my arm and trying to pull me off the guy.

“This piece of shit was hurting Polly,” I growl, ready to punch him again. Joey drags me away, and the guy manages to stand up.

“Why don’t you mind your own business, pretty boy!” he spits at me, blood from his split lip getting on my shirt and neck. I lunge at him again, but Joey manages to hold me back while the guy walks away. He leads me across the street.

“Hey, he’s a mean one. Polly’s one of his girls, and he don’t like no one messing with her or with him.”

“He was hurtin’ her!” I say through clenched teeth. “Nobody should treat a woman like that!”

Joey just shakes his head. “She’s a whore, David. It goes with the territory. What’re you—her knight in shining armor or something? Come on.” He takes me home and cleans me up, giving up for the night.

We play some cards and drink all the beer. We don’t have a TV or even a radio--none of the people we know would think of spending his hard-earned money on such extravagances when food and shelter are luxuries—so we usually play games like this. Sitting with Joey, playing checkers, cards, or monopoly on nights like these, has a settling effect on my nerves. I know how to play a lot of board games, and the more Joey teases me when we play, the better I feel.

When Joey loses his fifth game in a row, he puts the cards down and comes around the table to sit beside me on the couch.

“David,” he says softly, and I look at him. “I want ya to know that I don’t believe for a second you were ever a bad guy.” He’s looking at me really sincerely and takes my hand. “You’re a really good person, and no one like you has some kind of shady past. I never seen anyone take up for a hooker like you did today. You’re really something else.” He smiles. “I think you oughta go to the nearest police station and find out who you are.”

I take his words in, staring at the far wall where Joey has hung a picture of Marilyn Monroe he got at the dime store. He really likes Marilyn. “I’m scared,” I finally admit softly, and Joey turns my face toward him with a finger.

“I’ll go with you. If they arrest you, I’ll bail you out.” His dark eyes seek my trust. I do trust him.

“What if—what if I don’t like who I am?” I ask.

“If you don’t, then you can be who you are now. My friend, David.”

He smiles, and I smile, and he leans in and kisses me softly. His hand runs around to the back of my head and caresses my hair. I pull him close and kiss him deeply, all kinds of emotions welling up inside me. Fear, gratitude, loneliness. We lie down on the couch and fool around a little, then head to his bedroom, hand in hand. Joey loves me for hours, and I feel like I belong, for a while at least.

Later, as I lie in bed alone, I think maybe he’s right—it’s time for me to face up to my past.

***

**Bay City**

**Metro Station, Dobey’s office**

“Starsky, it’s been three months. We just don’t have the manpower to keep looking. I need you back at work.”

“I thought you cared about Hutch, Cap’n.” It’s a dirty thing to say, but I’m not feeling my nicest. I can’t believe Dobey’s pulling men off Hutch’s case.

To his credit, Dobey isn’t hitting the ceiling. “You know I do, Dave. You still have access to everything here, and you can continue to search during your off hours.”

“You know that ain’t good enough!” I point a finger at him. “Hutch is out there somewhere, and I can find him.”

  
Dobey looks like he wants to throw something. He’s got that angry bull look to him.  “Starsky---There’s nothing I can think of to do that we haven’t done already!”

I turn toward the door and press my forehead against it. “I gotta try, Cap. Until I know for sure—I owe it to Hutch to keep trying.” I leave, not knowing if I’ll still have a job when I come back.

If I don’t find Hutch, I may not come back.

**Dale City**

Joey and I don’t go to the police station because Joey gets himself killed before we can. Tommy and I find him in an alley—the same one he found me in, if you can believe the irony in that. Tommy calls the cops and I go back home, wondering who the hell beats a guy to death for less than sixty dollars in cash. I wish I could’ve stopped it. I feel bad that I wasn’t there. My hands are shaking and I feel sick. I throw up and flush the toilet, then stare at my face in the bathroom mirror.

“Who are you?” I ask my reflection, not for the first time.

I think about taking Joey’s stash he was saving and just getting the hell out of town, but I can’t do that. Instead I take it to a bank and purchase a few money orders, since I don’t have any i.d. for a cashier’s check. Back home, I make the money orders out to Joey’s uncle and put them in an envelope, along with a note explaining that Joey had been saving up to come and see him. Tommy protected me by telling the police he didn’t know who Joey was or where he lived. He’ll probably be processed as a John Doe. Knowing that hurts me enough to think about going to the police, even if it does mean I may end up in jail.

There’s no point in me packing up the few cruddy things Joey owned and mailing them to the uncle, so I just take the envelope and head to the post office. I don’t usually frequent places like this—that is, public places where respectable people congregate, so I stay low, keeping my head down and only looking up to purchase the stamp and stick the envelope in the slot. Then I’m out of there.

At the apartment that night, I sit and brood. I miss Joey, my only friend in this world. I wonder again about myself—what kind of guy I am, if I have family and friends. Are they looking for me? Or am I in serious trouble? I give in and cry for a while, staring at Marilyn on the wall, feeling sorry for myself.

This is a Tuesday, and Bruno usually picks me up on Tuesdays and Fridays. I know I should head out to the street, but I just don't have it in me. Instead I go to the refrigerator and get a beer. I make a toast to Joey and drink. But after a while I can’t stand the silence and the loneliness, so I go out. I figure this late, Bruno’s driver will have given up on me, but not too long after I get out there, the Mercedes approaches the curb.

“Thought you weren’t coming,” he says to me as I get in the back seat.

“Almost didn’t,” I say.

“I wouldn’t cross him, David,” the man says, not unkindly. This is the longest conversation we’ve had since the first one. I ignore the warning and look out the tinted windows at the streets quickly changing from dirty and forlorn to friendly and well-taken-care-off. Soon we enter the pristine neighborhood of the rich and entitled. Funny, but I feel at home in all these places. Just another piece to me I don’t understand.

I think of myself as a spilled pile of puzzle pieces that don’t fit together, and this further depresses me. I don’t want to think about it, or of Joey. I just want to run and keep running. But first I’m going to earn as much money as I can as fast as I can.

Bruno is angry when I arrive.

“Why are you so fucking late?” he shouts at the driver.

“It’s not his fault; I wasn’t out there.” My voice is soft and soothing. Bruno flares his nostrils and purses his lips together but doesn’t say anything else. The driver leaves quickly.

As soon as he’s gone, Bruno seizes me and kisses me, which I don’t like. I pull away and wipe my mouth off. He orders me to undress, and I do it. He seems intent on punishing me for my tardiness, but at least he uses the lube this time. When he’s finished, he lies panting on the rug before the fireplace, a sheen of sweat covering his body for his exertions.

“I’m ready to get you a place,” he tells me.

I sit up and look at him squarely. “I told you I’m not interested.”

“Because of your friend,” he supplies. I swallow the grief that washes over me and nod once.

“That’s no longer a problem and you know it,” he tells me. Ice forms around my heart then moves quickly throughout my veins.

“What do you mean by that?” I ask, my voice just as cold as my insides.

“Just what I said,” Bruno replies easily. “Your friend is no longer a problem in your life, so I am going to get you an apartment. You have three days to clear your place out.” He stands. “Now get dressed and go.”

“How do you know my friend is no longer a problem?” I push.

He doesn’t even turn to look at me. “Don’t be naïve, David. I get what I want.”

Like a machine, I rise and dress, my body tingling from all of the emotions assaulting me at once. Shock, grief, fear, horror. Could it be true? Did Bruno have Joey killed simply to get him out of the way? I choke on my culpability.

Evidently not wanting to deal with me anymore tonight, Bruno disappears into his bedroom, and like magic, his driver appears from the elevator. I go with him, my mind numb. By the time I get to my apartment, I’ve made up my mind. That mother fucker isn’t going to get away with this, if I have anything to say about it.

***

**Bay City**

I’m driving around like a dog chasing its ass, and receive the patch-through from Dobey with a mixture of excitement and fear. I haven’t been back to work, and I haven’t heard from my superior since our talk in his office last week. The only reason I can think of for Dobey wanting to contact me is he has word on Hutch. They’ve found him. But alive or dead? That’s what’s scaring me so bad I feel like throwing up.

“Yeah, Cap’n?” I say into the mic, trying my damnedest to keep my voice steady.

“Starsky, head to the Dale City police station. We’ve just had word that someone fitting Hutch’s description has been in to see them.”

“Right, I’m on it.” I slam the Mars light on the roof and flip it on, my heart accelerating along with the Torino’s engine.

“And Starsky…keep me informed.”

Dale City. That’s less than fifty miles from here. Could Hutch have been so close all this time? I’m so relieved to have a lead, I think I’m gonna need a bathroom and fast. After these months of debilitating fear, I’m filled with hope.

When I arrive at the station, I have to fight a bustle of people to get the information I need. I finally find myself seated in front of an Officer Stanley. He’s big and burly and seems sympathetic to my partner being missing and all.

“I didn’t have his picture right in front of me, but I’ve seen it plenty of times on the bulletin board,” Stanley tells me, pushing papers around his desk. “Thing is, the new guy took his statement and didn’t make the connection. He’s out on a call now, but he told me everything. I just caught a glimpse of your partner as he was exiting the building. I took after him, but he’d disappeared.”

I swallow, my heart hammering so loud it’s giving me a headache. “You sure it was Hutch?”

“About 90 percent sure, yeah. I went and looked at the picture again. Tall, blond. Couldn’t see the color of his eyes, but he had the same build and everything. I got a decent look at his face.”

“What was he in here for?”

“Dillard says he filled out a report about a recent homicide. A hustler that was found dead in an alley. He identified the guy--says he knows who did it, too, and gave all the information.”

Stanley hands me the report, and I look down at it, my breath catching in my throat. It’s Hutch’s handwriting alright. I’m feeling light-headed, but ready to run out and find him. I scan the report. “He’s put his name as David Smith. He doesn’t leave a contact number or anything.”

“I know. He wouldn’t. Says he knows this guy Bruno Sinclair killed Joey Barnes. Wrote down everything he knows about Sinclair—right there.” Stanley points to the second page of the report.

“At least I got something to go on,” I say, rising. I copy the information in my notebook, shake Stanley’s hand, and head out. I wonder why Hutch would use a false name, and why, if he’s healthy enough to walk into a police station and make a report, he hasn’t contacted me. Worry gnaws at my stomach as I drive across town.

This Sinclair fellow lives in a penthouse apartment in the nicest part of the city. Dale City is way bigger than Bay City, with many reputable businesses housed within its perimeters. Meadow Lark Plaza is the name of the place, and I have to argue with the gatekeeper and flash my badge to get in. This Sinclair fellow isn’t at home, and I resign myself to waiting all night if I have to. Ain’t no way I’m leaving when I’m this close to finding Hutch.

***

**Dale City Apartments**

The landlord isn’t in, so I’m going to have to wait until tomorrow to settle up with him. I spend the evening packing up my stuff. I tell Tommy he can have everything I leave behind. He doesn’t like it that I’m leaving, but he understands about running.

I don’t know if that police officer believed me or not, especially since he got annoyed that I wouldn’t give a phone number or address. I’m sure “Smith” as a last name didn’t fool him, either. If I’m lucky, he’ll check out what I told him about Bruno. At least I’ve done what I can.

I feel so damn empty. I sit in the dark apartment and stare at Marilyn, wondering why Joey had to die so young. It would’ve been so much better if it had been me. I’m older and have lost my memory. Joey was twenty-three fucking years old, and he was going to go live with his uncle in Texas and have a good life! I clench my fists in anger. Part of me wants to go kill Bruno myself, but I know it’s better to get out of here while I can. He’s really expecting me to follow his orders and show up at his door. Well, he’s got another think coming, the bastard.

I sit and brood long into the night.

***

**Meadow Lark Plaza**

It seems like forever until Bruno Sinclair arrives. I know it’s the right guy because I’ve paid the doorman to tip me off when he gets here. I charge up to him before he can get on the elevator, and show him my badge.

“I’d like to have a few words with you, Mr. Sinclair,” I tell him.

He studies my badge a little too long before looking back up at me. “What is this about, Officer Starsky?”

“Detective Starsky,” I correct. “We can get into this here, in front of the doorman and whoever else comes along, or we can go up to your penthouse and have a little privacy. Your choice.”

Sinclair chooses the privacy, as I thought he would. I’d called the station while I was waiting and done a little digging. He has reasons for wanting to keep things quiet. The ride up is silent and strained. The doors open to a room with a fabulous view of the city. I look around. White leather sofas, white bear skin rug, black marble fireplace, expensive paintings on the walls. Impressive.

Sinclair takes off his expensive silk sports coat and drapes it carefully across a chair. “Have a seat, Detective,” he tells me, and I move around to sit on the closest sofa.

“Nice place,” I tell him, and he nods. He’s of the stuffy sort, all manners and haughty attitude. I wonder what Hutch makes of him. Hutch comes from money, but he doesn’t act like it. This guy looks like he thinks he shits hundred dollar bills ‘stead of crap like everybody else. He picks up a gold case and offers me a cigar. I shake my head, and he lights one up, blowing a perfect smoke ring into the air.

I pull the picture of Hutch out of my wallet. “You ever seen this man?” I ask him. He takes the photo and studies it, and says that he hasn’t, but I can tell he’s lying. This makes me angry.  Sliding into his personal space, I say, “Believe me, it’s in your best interest to tell me what you know. Every man’s got something he doesn’t want the world, or the police, to get wind of, and I got my ways of digging that something out.”

Bruno swallows. Most people wouldn’t think I’d rattled him, but I’m not most people. I’ve been doing this for too long not to recognize the signs. I push my advantage. “I bet a guy like you’s got all kinds of interesting skeletons in his closet. In fact, I hear you’re thinking of a career in politics.”

Sinclair looks back down at the picture, little beads of sweat forming on his brow. “I may have seen him.” He seems to be weighing something in his mind, possibly whether it’d be worse on him to tell what he knows or not to tell.

“When.” The way I’m sitting, Sinclair can’t move a muscle without brushing a part of my body, which he seems loath to do.

He hesitates. “Recently.”

“ _How recently?”_ I ask in a steely tone, sick of the games.

“Last night. Or early yesterday morning. Between midnight and six AM.”

“Where?”

“Here.”

“Why was he here?” I ask, my eyes never leaving his. If he blinks funny, I wanna know it.

“He was visiting me.”

Getting information out of this clown is like trying to get the last donut away from Dobey. “Come on!” I say, losing my cool. “Tell me everything you know!”

Sinclair swallows and looks away. “His name is David. I don’t know his last name. I employ him occasionally when the need arises.”

I frown. “Employ him for what?”

Sinclair purses his lips. “Is this really necessary? This man isn’t here. You can search the place if you want.”

“Look fella, I want to know every scrap of information you have on the man in this picture, and I want to know now. Once I have that, I’ll leave you alone. Got it?”

Sinclair sighs. “If you must know, David and I have a relationship.”

I frown harder. “I thought you said he’s your employee.”

Sinclair looks uncomfortable. I think he’s decided not to answer me, so I just sit and wait it out. Eventually the silence will force it out of him. I’m a patient man when it suits me.

After a time, he starts talking, his tone changing to one of commiseration. “You’re a man, detective. You know how it is—we have needs. Sometimes we’re just too busy to go out and forge relationships. I enjoy a particular type…blond, leggy. David suits me well, and he’s very passionate…”

I am out of my seat and have him by the collar in two seconds flat. “You’d better watch what you’re saying, Mr. Sinclair,” I growl in his face. “Now think hard…are you tryin’ to tell me that the man in this picture hustles for you? ‘Cause if you are, I think you’d better rethink a bit.”

Sinclair is sweating bullets now, thin streams running down the sides of his face. “I-I’m telling you the truth. I didn’t want to admit to paying for his company, but you were so persistent! My driver picks him up on the corner of 7th and Vine and brings him here. I pay him handsomely for his time.”

I tighten my hold on his collar and hoist him in the air, anger coursing through me like an avalanche. “Tell me the truth, you sonavabitch!”

“I am telling you the truth!” he strangles out.

I throw him onto the sofa. “There ain’t no way Hutch is no two-bit hustler!”

Sinclair straightens his clothes. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him. He’s worth so much more than that.”

“Shut up!” I scream at him, and he flinches. I’m breathing hard and sweating. For the first time in my life, I’m actually worried about having a heart attack; that’s how upset I am. “7th and Vine…you sure about that,” I choke out.

Sinclair nods.

“Anything else you can tell me?” I don’t look at him. I can’t stand seeing his face anymore.

“W-what do you want to know?”

“First off, I want you to take another look at that picture and tell me you are certain this is the same man you’ve had…here.”

Sinclair picks the photo up from where he dropped it. After a moment, he says, “I am absolutely positive.”

I clench my teeth. “You happen to know where I can find him?”

“I don’t know where he lives, but I told you where you can find him around ten PM every night.”

I take the picture from him and leave, my gut clenching.

I show Hutch’s picture to every person I see on the street near that corner. No one claims to know him, but if Hutch is really hustling, these people aren’t going to rat on one of their own. Questions circle my mind like buzzards over a carcass. Why would Hutch be doing this? Why hasn’t he called me? What the _fuck_ is going on? All I know is I gotta find him. I gotta find my partner.

***

**Dale City Apartments**

I awaken late the following morning and for a minute I expect to see Joey at the kitchen table with his coffee. The hard fact that he’s gone forever hits me like a semi, and a swallow back tears. I shower, shave, and brush my teeth, then head downstairs to see the landlord.

There’s no answer to my knock. I spot a lady going into the apartment next door. “Excuse me…can you tell me when I might find Mr. Tollet at home?” I ask.

The woman pauses half-way inside her door. “He’s out of the country right now. He’ll be back tomorrow night.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, disappointed. I really want to get out of here. I should have enough money to put some distance between me and Dale City before dear Bruno gets a whiff of my absence. I wouldn’t put it past him to try to find me; he seems pretty obsessed with me lately. I lean against the wall and think. Another day won’t matter too much. Bruno gave me three to get my things together, and even if he’s watching me, that appears to be what I’m doing. I decide to go out tonight and make a little more money, then talk to the landlord tomorrow when he gets back. Tollet was so kind to us when we moved in, waving the usual thirty day wait when we told him about the rats and roaches we were living with at the other place. I don’t want to just split without an explanation. Plus, I’ve got to give him the keys and ask him to let Tommy in to get the furniture after I’m gone.

So I head back upstairs to find something to eat. Between bites of cold pizza, I go through my clothes, looking for something sexy enough to earn cash tonight. I decide on the black button-down silk shirt and the tight jeans. I go in Joey’s room and use some of his cologne. I finish boxing up his clothes and toiletries and sit down on the bed, remembering the last night we’d shared. He’d been so tender and funny. I miss him so much, it hurts. Joey was so much a part of who I am. The only me I know.

I putter around, cleaning out the refrigerator and sweeping. I take some laundry to the nearby laundry mat and sit reading one of Joey’s books while the clothes are washing and drying. Soon enough, it’s dark and time to head out. I give myself the once over, decide I’ll do, and leave the apartment building.

There’s a cool breeze blowing that carries the smell of the ocean, although that’s some ways off. As I walk, I wonder which direction I should take when I leave here for good. I have no idea where I’m from. I don’t know how long those thugs had me before I came to in their car. For all I know, I could live three minutes from here, or three hours. Three days, for that matter.

I take up my usual post on the corner of 7th and Vine, waving to Tommy, who’s on his way to his spot in front of Shenanigans, the bar down the street. I try not to look over toward the gentlemen’s club, where Joey always stood, sometimes making funny faces and hand gestures at me from a distance to crack me up and make me forget for a while that I’m selling my body on the street.

A car approaches almost immediately, and I hope it’s somebody with a lot of money and maybe I won’t have to work much tonight. As it draws closer, that dream dies when I see it’s a gaudily painted Torino that looks like it’s seen better days. Oh well, it could be worse.

I walk over to the passenger window and the guy leans over. He’s dark and kind of swarthy looking; sexy in a street-wise way. He doesn’t really look like my usual customers. My heart skips a beat when I see him, though I’m not sure why.

His mouth kind of falls open. “Hutch?” he says quietly.

I frown. “Huh? You paying, mister, or just wasting my time?” I ask.

He blinks, looks like he’s about to say something, then shuts his mouth tight, staring hard into my eyes. His are a deep, ocean blue fringed by thick, dark lashes. “Yeah, I’m payin’. Get in.”

I climb in beside him and close the door. “I’m not into anything kinky,” I tell him right off, although he’s the first John I’ve met that could make me seriously reconsider that rule. “What’ve you got in mind?”

The guy swallows hard, and I think maybe he’s never done this before. He seems nervous. I decide to give him a break. “If you just want me to blow you, we can go into a back alley for that. We don’t have to drive somewhere.”

The guy looks at me so fast, I think he may have given himself whiplash.

“Or maybe you want all night? We going to a motel?” I ask. “That’s going to cost you a lot more.”

For a minute, I think this guy’s going to start crying. Man, he must be cheating on his wife or something. I look for a wedding ring, but don’t see one. “You sure you want to do this, buddy?” As the words leave my mouth, I feel the most poignant stab to my heart that I’ve ever felt. It takes me a moment to recover.

In the meantime, the guy pulls himself together and starts driving. “What’s your name?” he asks, his voice breaking a little.

“David,” I answer.

“Funny, that’s my name, too,” he says quietly.

“No kidding.”

He drives us to a nearby motel and gets out of the car to pay for a room. He looks like he doesn’t want to leave me.

“Don’t worry, I’ll wait,” I tell him, and he smiles crookedly and goes inside. My heart does the weird flip again that it’s been doing every time the guy looks at me. I’d better watch out, or I might end up letting him fuck me for free.

He’s back before I know it, and we drive around behind the building and park. Ours is room 217. We climb the stairs and the John unlocks the door. Once inside, he just stands there and stares at me.

“Lights on or off?” I ask.

“What?” He looks like he’s forgotten why we came here.

“You prefer the lights on or off?” I repeat.

“Oh. Er, on, I guess.” He continues to stand motionless in the middle of the room. “You been doin’ this long?” he asks me as I turn on the table lamps.

“A while,” I say. “Listen, you’re going to have to pay up front.”

The guy gets his wallet out and flips through it. “How much?” he asks. I notice his hands are shaking, poor dope. He keeps looking at me like he wants to say something. I wonder what his thing is. Does he want to pretend I’m someone else? Probably not, since he wants the lights on. Maybe he’s just in the closet and wanting to try swinging this way. My sympathy is getting the better of me, I can tell, and then I open my mouth and quote him half the price I usually take. I could bite my tongue out after I say it, but it’s too late now. He pulls the bills out and hands them to me, not seeming to realize what a deal he’s getting. Joey would be shaking his head if he knew. I pocket them quickly.

“So, David…” I begin, starting to unbutton my shirt. He’s looking pretty good to me, and something about his wary demeanor turns me on. Bruno’s right—I am randy. Joey told me once this is a really good quality in a hustler—being able to get it up.

“Call me Starsky.”

“What?” my hands stop, hovering over the buttons.

“Call me Starsky.” The blue eyes hold mine.

For just a second, I feel faint. I stumble, and the John catches me.

“You okay?” he asks, and I gaze into his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, I straighten.“Yeah. Just haven’t eaten in a while.”

“You want me to get you some food?”  he asks, looking really concerned, and I laugh. “What?” he asks.

“You’re just not like any John I’ve ever encountered,” I say, smiling. “We’re here for sex, not to feed me.” I reach out and unbutton his shirt. “Unless you’ve got something else in mind for me to eat.”

His chest has a lot of dark hair on it, and I comb my fingers through it, admiring the texture. “I can make you feel real good,” I say softly. His eyes are locked with mine. I finish unbuttoning his shirt, and then start on his belt buckle. He blinks and grabs my hand.

“Hu-David. Wait.”

I frown. “Why?”

“Let’s talk for a few minutes.”

I jerk away. “Listen, you’ve paid me, and this is what we’re here to do. You better not be some counselor from the Baptist Association…”

“Naw, I’m not…” he puts a hand out. “Sorry, I’m just—nervous.”

This settles me down. Nervous, I can handle. I approach him again and get the belt undone. “It’s okay to be nervous,” I tell him. “We all need something now and then.”

“Yeah?” he asks. He keeps staring at my face. I decide that if he’s going to stare at me, I might as well make a show of it. I stand back and start removing my clothing, really slowly. He watches, sweat breaking out on his forehead. He has this nice head of curly, dark hair that makes me want to run my fingers through it. “You like what you see?” I ask when I’m naked and standing before him.

He nods, then turns his head away. “Shit,” he says hoarsely.

“Hey, what is it?” I ask, coming toward him. I can feel the heat of his body so close to mine and begin to nibble on his neck, which tastes delectably good. He puts his hands up on my chest and for a moment I actually think he’s going to push me away, but instead he runs his fingers over my skin, making me shiver with desire. My erection grows.

“You’ve got too many clothes on,” I tell him, removing his shirt and throwing it down on the motel room’s ugly green carpeting.

“Can’t we just sit and talk?” he asks me in a weak voice. I chuckle and shake my head.

“That’s not the way it goes, Starsky.” After I say his name, I get that tingle again and frown. He grabs my hands and stares me in the eyes. For a moment, all time seems to stop, but I push the feeling away and drop to my knees in front of him.

There are so many things I don’t know.

This is what I do know.

I shove his tighter-than-tight jeans down his legs and release his cock, which is stirring with interest. I touch it, and it grows considerably. “That’s it…I knew you liked me,” I purr before taking him in my mouth. Starsky’s body jolts, and I have to grab his ass to keep him still.

“Oh my God!” he breathes. I don’t answer, because, well, my mouth’s full. I continue to lick and tease his prick, listening to his breathing getting harder and faster. He puts a gentle hand in my hair and smooths it down. “Ahh ha…oh, holy shit…” he whispers, and I’m glad he’s liking it, because for some reason, I very much want to please him. There’s just something about him. I deep throat him and he explodes in my mouth. Usually I don’t swallow, but I do with him, my throat muscles milking every last drop of cum out of him. With a long, drawn-out moan, he sinks to the floor.

“It’s probably dirty down there,” I say, getting up from my knees. I pull the bedspread off the big bed and yank down the covers. This motel is pretty nice—I’ve been in a lot worse. Still, I don’t want to roll around on the floor. “Come lie down on the bed,” I say, offering a hand to help him up. The guy has tears running down his cheeks. “Been that long, huh?” I ask.

“It’s been too long,” he says, those eyes seeking mine again. I look away. It hurts when he looks at me like that. He steps out of his shoes and pants and gets on the bed, scooting over to make room for me. I crawl up beside him, running my hand over his chest and feeling his tight abdominal muscles.

“What do you want to do now?” I ask.

“Just let’s rest for a minute,” he says quietly, so I lie there and close my eyes. After a moment, he suggests we turn out the lights. I reach for the one on my side of the bed while he does the other one. In the darkness, he says, his fingers running up and down my arm, “You’ve been gone a long time.”

I stiffen in his embrace. He feels it and tightens his hold on me. It feels achingly familiar.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

I try to laugh, say I’ve heard that line before.

“Hutch, buddy…” he says, and my world shatters. I sit up straight in the bed, my hands to my chest. He sits up next to me, tightening his grip around my shoulders. “I’ve been looking for you, Hutch. I never stopped. You been gone for months, buddy, please tell me what happened to you!” His voice is tight, contained, but pleading.

I’m breathing hard now, images running through my brain. Running down back streets, ducking behind a dumpster. Shots fired. “I-I think I’m running from the law,” I manage.

“No.” His voice is firm. He runs his hand down my back in soothing circles.

“I—They said they wanted to make me pay.”

“They?”

“The guys who had me. They were going to kill me. I ran.”

Starsky’s hand doesn’t stop moving. It feels nice. It calms me. I take a deep, shuddering breath, leaning over to rest my head on my bent knees. He’s so familiar. So wonderfully familiar. “Do I…know you?” I finally manage to ask.

“Y-es.” The word comes out broken.

Starsky swallows, then continues, “You’re my partner. We’re—cops.”

I turn toward his voice. “ _I’m a cop?”_

“Yeah. A good one.”

“But…my arm.”

Surprisingly, he knows what I’m talking about.

“That was done to you. You didn’t want it.”

“I don’t think I’m a good person.”

“You’re the _best_ person I know.”

I lie back down, and he follows.

“I can’t remember anything. Nothing. Nobody.” My voice is tight.

“You will, don’t worry.”

“That’s what Joey always said.”

“Joey?”

“He’s the guy who found me in the alley. He took me in.” I tell him about Joey. Starsky’s breathing quietly beside me. I actually feel safe.

Putting my hand on his chest, I ask, “Are we just partners at work?” I press my lips to the soft skin on his side, just under his arm and beside his ribs. He smells of sandalwood. _Oh, God._

“Yes,” he says.

I wait a beat. “How come?’

Starsky turns toward me and I can just make out his face in the darkness.

“Because we’re tough cops…we date women.”

“So…you don’t want me that way.”

Starsky closes his eyes tightly, and I feel bad for asking. “It’s okay,” I tell him.

“Hutch, it’s not that I don’t want you—it’s that I …”

“Hey,” I say, putting a finger to his lips. “You don’t have to explain.”

***

God, this is so hard! Hutch doesn’t remember a thing. I knew it the moment I looked into those baby blues back on 7th and Vine. I don’t know what happened to him exactly, but somehow he lost his memory when he was kidnapped and he’s been living—God!—as a hustler all this time! Out on the streets hustling his body. And I let him suck me off! I wasn’t gonna do it, but he was gonna bolt, and I couldn’t lose him again. And when he knelt in front of me…all that beautiful blondness… hell, I’m not a fucking saint! And it was terrific…spectacular! I just hope Hutch can forgive me for it.

Now he’s asking me if we slept together on a regular basis, and I gotta tell him no, even though I suddenly wish I could tell him yes. I’ve never thought of my partner in this way. Sure, I know he’s good looking, I’m not blind, but my mind has always been on women. And now, here he is—alive and healthy and coming on to me like a freight train! I’m worried about him. Worried about his memory, although there’s these moments he has when he looks like he’s somewhere else for a minute—they give me hope, because I think stuff’s coming back to him. But I get the feeling that he’s fightin’ it for some reason. Why would he fight it?

“Hutch,” I say now, “if you’re scared about anything, you don’t have to be. You have a good life back in Bay City.”

“Bay City?” he says. “So that’s where I’m from?”

“You’re actually from Minnesota, but you’ve lived in Bay City for a while now. You’re a respected cop, and you’ve got plenty of friends. I’m your best friend.”

“Do I have a dog?” he asks.

“No, but you did when you were a kid. His name was Bandit.”

He leans toward me and kisses my cheek very gently. It sends a shiver down my spine, and my cock rises from where it’s been resting on my leg.

“Did I have horses?” he asks.

“Yeah, I think so.”

He seems to be thinking. “So why’s my name Hutch?” he asks from where he’s nestled his face in my neck.

“Uh…Hutchinson. Your name’s Ken Hutchinson.” I’m having trouble holding my voice steady.

“Huh,” he says. _Is that his tongue on my shoulder?_

“When Joey asked me my name, and I didn’t know it, he ran through a list of men’s names, and I chose David, because it sounded right.”

“It’s my name, I told you. David Starsky.”

Hutch kisses me just below my ear, and I can’t help it, I rise off the bed.

“You sure you don’t want to make it with me?” he asks, his breath hot in my ear.

 _The man is killing me._ “Hutch, you don’t even remember me!” I protest, a bit weakly, I admit.

Hutch takes my hand and puts it over his heart. “I do, in here,” he says, and I melt.

“Don’t hate me for this,” I tell him before I grab him. My mouth’s on his, and I’m licking and sucking, feeling the burn deep within me. He’s meeting me kiss for kiss, and I roll over on top of him, groaning as his long legs wrap around my waist. Holy fuck, I’m in heaven.

My hands thread into that soft, blond hair as my mouth works over his. His hot, wet tongue is sliding against mine, and I’m harder than granite for him.

“You ever made it with a guy, Starsky?” he asks throatily, and I shake my head. “Well you’re in for a real treat.”

I practically cry when he moves away from me, but he’s back in two seconds with a tube of something. I hear the cap opening, and then he begins lubing up my cock. I moan.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he says softly, sliding his fingers up and down my shaft. He lies back down and I roll on top of him, my mouth unable to wait to meet with his again. “So you do like me,” he says.

“Hutch, I fuckin’ love you,” I pant into his ear, and he laughs. He spreads his legs and pulls up, guiding me to his hole. I push in and—God almighty! It’s hot and snug and…and…God! I begin to move, and Hutch is moving with me, kind of hoisted up on his elbows and leaning back.

“Shit, Blondie…” I grate out, and Hutch shudders.

“Whatsamatter?” I ask, but he shakes his head.

“Don’t stop…”

I move faster, and Hutch meets every thrust, his feet braced on each side of me. The sensations are getting better and better—it’s never been this good. I know it’s because of the tight little hole and because it’s Hutch. I’ve never been up a woman’s ass before, believe it or not. I’ve never had a partner willing. I’ve certainly never been up a man’s ass, and it seems surreal in the extreme to be doing this to my partner. Right now I’m so goddamn happy to be with Hutch, and so turned on, I feel like my body’s on fire. I’m pumping hard, and he’s thrusting against me, crying out, his mouth open and sweat running down his face and chest. I’m out of control. Knowing I’m with my partner—the man I trust with my life on the streets—and I’m fucking him up the ass and he’s enjoying it---it’s powerful stuff. My dick has never been this hard. It could fucking cut glass.

“Yes, that’s it…fuck me, Starsk, fuck me!”

Somewhere in my desire-induced fog, I notice the shortening of my name and think maybe he’s remembering, but I can’t stop for nothin’, I’m almost there. A tidal wave of pleasure rushes over me, starting at my toes and moving tsunami-like all the way through me and up to come bursting out the top of my head. Hutch is screaming and clutching my arms, which are the only thing holding me up as I come like gangbusters inside his tightening ass.

When it’s over, I collapse to the side of him, slipping out with a small sucking noise. He lies panting beside me, and God, I love him. We sleep, entwined.

The next morning, I awake with my sated, beautiful partner, and happiness like I’ve never known bubbles up inside me. He’s still asleep, and I get up and call Dobey, who’s ecstatic I’ve found Hutch. The memory thing trips him up, but I tell him we’re working on it. I ask him to call Huggy and give him the good news. When I hang up, I turn to see a pair of baby blues staring at me.

“Captain Dobey is awful happy I found you,” I tell him.

“Is he…big, black?” Hutch asks.

I nod, smiling like I just won the lottery. Maybe I did.

Hutch smiles back. “I don’t know, it’s not all there, but bits and pieces seem to be coming back. I wonder why?”

“It’s me and thee,” I say scooting closer to him. I lean down and kiss him wetly.

“Mmmm,” he murmurs into my mouth, and I open mine wider, moving against his luscious lips. I still can’t believe this is happening, but it is. And hell if I’m not going to love every minute of it. I don’t care if we’ve never done this before or if this makes us gay. Call us anything you want; I’m happy as hell. Hutch wraps his arms around me and pulls me to him, all his smooth skin rubbing against me like a big, silky blanket. I just want to mark him as my territory like an alpha dog or something. I wrap my arms up under him, placing my hands on his shoulders and continue kissing the life out of him.

When we come up for air, Hutch looks into my eyes for a long time. “Are you angry with me?” he asks.

I frown. “Why would I be angry with you?”

“Because you never would’ve done this with me if I hadn’t pushed it.”

I lean my forehead against his. “I’m not angry with you, Blondie.” My heart hurts, I love him so much. He smiles and says, “Good.”

He tells me he has to go wrap up some stuff with the landlord, so I take him to his apartment. I can’t believe he’s been living here, so close to Bay City, all this time. He tells me he was living in a rat trap before this place, but the money Bruno paid him enabled him and Joey to move here. I don’t want to think about him with Bruno Sinclair. I don’t want to think of him with this Joey person, although it sounds like I owe him for helping Hutch. I certainly don’t want to think of him on his knees servicing every Tom, Dick, and Harry who had a ten in his pocket.

“That reminds me,” he says, and takes the money I gave him last night out of his pocket and gives it back to me. I take it.  Our eyes meet, and we understand each other.

I help him gather his stuff together, and we go waste some time eating and stuff before coming back to talk to the landlord, who’s been away. When Hutch gets all that settled, we head back to Bay City.

He seems nervous. “Hey,” I say, and he looks at me. “Everything’s gonna be fine. I’m tellin’ ya.” He smiles, but he’s fidgeting and running his hands over his legs like he does when he’s upset about something. I wish I could help him, but I don’t know how.

We go to his apartment. He walks around it, touching stuff. He spends a long time with his plants, caressing the leaves, checking the soil. I don’t say anything, just watch him. He finds the picture on his shelf of us together at the police academy graduation. “I can’t believe I haven’t slept with you before now,” he comments, touching the picture. I feel myself blushing.

He goes through all the books on his shelf, one by one, as though he could learn who he is this way. “That one’s mine,” I say when he picks up a sci-fi paperback. “And so’s that one,” when he comes to the Louis L’Amour western. A perusal of his closet turns up several of my shirts as well. He looks at me with eyebrow raised, and I just shake my head and shrug.

After he’s finished going through everything, he comes to stand in front of me. He runs a finger over my lips, parting them. “Seems like we’re a big part of each other’s lives,” he says. “Do I have as much of my stuff at your place?”

I nod, mesmerized by those lips. I can’t take my eyes offa them.

He notices, leans forward, and slides his tongue into my mouth. I suck on it eagerly, pulling him to me. My hand rests at the back of his neck, making sure he doesn’t get away from me, my other arm encircling his waist. We kiss for a long, long time. Partner Hutch, friend Hutch, lover Hutch. My tongue explores, moving around, touching his teeth, the roof of his mouth, underneath his tongue. I tilt my head up and suck on his upper lip, savoring the flavor. My lips move over and over his, never getting enough. I could kiss Hutch forever, I swear.

Hutch’s erection is rubbing against my pubic bone. I slide my hand around and press my palm against it.

“Oh, oh,” he pants into my mouth, and I get even harder than I already am. I thrust against him, and he grabs hold of my ass, pulling my erection up to meet his. I moan, long and loud, and he moves his mouth to my neck, sucking on it.

“Oh, Hutch…” I’m becoming boneless in his arms.

He takes my hand and pulls me into the bedroom and down onto his bed, slowly removing my shirt and then kissing every inch of my chest until I protest that I’m about to come in my pants. He’s loving me so good, I’m shaking from it. He kisses down to my belly and then nuzzles my crotch, right through my jeans. I jerk upward, growling my frustration. He takes pity on me and unbuttons my jeans. I know what’s coming, but still gasp audibly when he takes me between his lips. There’s no feeling on earth like my prick inside the wet suction of that beautiful mouth, unless maybe it’s my prick in the hot, tight channel of his ass. I moan thinking about it. After a moment I look down at Hutch’s blond head bobbing over me, and see the muscles in his mouth working. I watch his mouth move up, revealing my beet red phallus and then dip low again, taking it all in, deeper and deeper, then swallowing around me, his throat moving.

“Oh, man, Hutch…that’s so good, babe. So good,” I manage to get out on a sigh as he runs his tongue up my dick and then sucks on the head. “Oh, holy shit, yeah…” And I’m trying not to thrust too hard, but my orgasm is building inside of me. I clutch his hand in mine, and his other hand goes just beneath my balls to stroke my perineum. His pinky tickles my anus and I’m up and over, yelling hoarsely, my neck straining.

I lie breathing hard. I want to tell him he does that like a pro, but that hits a little too close to home. Instead, I pull him to me and kiss him senseless. Then I move down and do what I never imagined I’d ever do in this lifetime: I take a man’s prick in my mouth. It’s not just any man, but my partner, which makes it okay and even weirder at the same time. It sounds crazy, but on the one hand, it’s okay because I love him like nobody else. On the other hand, the last man I’d imagine I’d be sucking is my tough partner, who you’d think would clip me in the jaw at the very thought. Guess not, though, because Hutch looks like clipping me in the jaw is the very last thing on his mind as he writhes and twists under my hands. His cock is huge and hot in my mouth, and I try every trick on him that he practiced on me. He cries out, his hands in my hair.

“Starsky!” He comes, and then I’m swallowing all his spunk, my throat massaging him until he’s sobbing. Then I let him go.

When I pull myself up next to him, I realize he really is crying, and I cradle him against me. “Shhhh, it’s okay, Hutch. Shush, now.” I run my fingers through his hair and rock him to me. “Hey, now. It’s okay, partner.”

“Starsky…” he says, hot tears falling on my neck and shoulder.

“I’m here,” I tell him, kissing the side of his head. “I’ll always be here. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

We settle ourselves under the covers and go to sleep, his head on my chest.

***

Starsky insists on having me checked out at the hospital. The doctor spends a long time poking me and testing my vision and hand/eye coordination. Then I have to do things like walk a straight line and stand on one foot. Next he sends me off for tests. In the end, he tells me there’s a good chance all my memory will come back, but I’ll just have to wait and see. Physically, I’m healthy.

“I could’ve told you that,” I inform Starsky when we leave.

“The department foots the bill, so no harm done,” he says, glancing at me as he drives. “But I think you should do as he suggested and see a psychiatrist. Let him hypnotize you.”

I don’t like this idea. I don’t know why I’m balking at it, but I just don’t want to do it. Starsky doesn’t push me. I like that about him. Honestly, all I really want to do right now is go back to my place and get back into bed with him. I love his body. It’s muscular and strong, and his chest hair is sexy as hell. I could kiss his neck all day long, and the way he kisses me is intoxicating. He has this way of looking at me like I’m the only person in this world, even when we aren’t in bed. It’s fucking addictive.

But Starsky has other things in mind. He takes me to this place called The Pits and orders me the ‘Huggy Special’, whatever the hell that is. Pretty soon, ‘Huggy’ himself comes out, and he’s all over me.

“Hutch, m’man! I’ve missed you, my blond brother!”

I smile, and try not to back away from this thin, flat-nosed individual with an odd taste in clothes. Starsky pulls Huggy aside, and I guess explains to him about my memory, because when he comes back, he’s not so in-my-face. Instead, he’s kind of wary and worried looking.

Our food comes, and I begin to eat, listening to Starsky and Huggy shoot the breeze. People are playing pool and pin ball, drinking and talking. I just sort of zone out and ignore it all while I eat.

When we leave, we go to his place. It doesn’t look familiar to me, either, but I’m comfortable there. Starsky showers and orders a pizza. I lounge on his couch, looking through his comic books. Peering over my shoulder, Starsky comments, “That’s what people call us sometimes.”

I look up at him.

“Batman and Robin,” he clarifies, pointing to the comic in my hand.

“Oh.” I look at it again. “Which one am I?”

“Robin, of course,” Starsky laughs. He comes around and sits beside me.

“Funny…I would’ve thought _you_ would be Robin,” I say.

“No way—I would drive the cool car. You would wear the tights.”

I smile and push him over on the couch, climbing on top of him to nibble on his neck.

“God, Blintz, I’ve missed you.”

“Blintz?” I ask, pausing in my nibbling to look at him.

“Just a nickname,” he says.

“Funny nickname. Do I remind you of food?”

“Sometimes.” His eyes twinkle, and I kiss him. We move our lips together, enjoying the warmth and softness. We kiss like this for a long time, until I get impatient and push my tongue into his mouth, reveling in the hot, wet feel.

“Mmmm…” he murmurs. When I move my lips to his cheek, he says, “I have to go back to work tomorrow.”

I try not to noticably stiffen, but fail.

“Blintz, I need my partner.”

I hear the plea in his voice. After a long moment of looking into those eyes, I say, “Okay, make the appointment. I’ll see the guy.” Starsky smiles.

***

I’m real worried about Hutch. I have to work, or Dobey’s gonna have my head, but the three days I spend at the precinct before his appointment with the psychiatrist are hell. I didn’t want him going to the department psychiatrist, even though I guess he’d be circumspect about it all. Dobey doesn’t even know the whole story, though, and I ain’t about to tell him. At least, not yet. The instinct to protect my partner is too great. Dobey came over last night and Hutch didn’t know him from Adam. Freaked the man out, I could tell.

But every day when I come home, Hutch seems to have sunk deep into himself. It always takes a while to get him talking and smiling again. It’s funny…I never would have put me and Hutch in bed together, but now that we’ve started this thing, I can’t imagine life without it. It’s like something just clicked tightly into place; I’m the happiest son-of-a-bitch in the goddamned world.

The first couple nights we take long walks on the beach, watching the moon rise over the ocean. When alone, we hold hands like the lovers that we now are. Back at my place, we can’t get enough of each other’s bodies. It’s bliss; my hands all over his golden softness, his hands all over me. My prick ramming inside his hot body while my hand strokes him to completion, my name on his lips when he cums.

The appointment’s at 5:30, just after I get off work, and Hutch is waiting for me at the curb outside my apartment. Other than that first night and a trip to pick up some clothes, we haven’t spent any more time in his. Everything about Hutch is rigid as he slides into the car.

“Relax, it’s gonna be fine,” I tell him. “Hutch, don’t worry. This guy’s gonna help you remember everything, and that’s not something to be scared of.”

Hutch looks down at his clasped hands, but doesn’t say anything. It takes twenty minutes to get to the building and another ten to find a parking spot. We are now running late, and sprint up the two flights of stairs rather than wait for the elevator. We could’ve saved our breath; it’s forty minutes before we’re called into the guy’s office.

Dr. Shapiro is about sixty-years-old, balding, with a large frame and big belly. His smile is kind, and immediately relaxes me, but not so my partner. He’s wound tight as a drum.

Hutch wants me in there with him when he gets hypnotized , so I find a spot on a chair and let Hutch have the chaise lounge. He reclines on it, looking uncomfortable as hell just being there. Dr. Shapiro tries to put him at ease with some questions, but Hutch only tenses up more, shooting me glances that plainly say, _get me the hell outta here!_

I try to send reassuring looks his way. Finally, Dr. Shapiro explains to Hutch that, while he’s under hypnosis, he will be free at any time to stop the process. He won’t lose his control of the situation. He spouts some more mumbo jumbo, and then begins by having Hutch lean back, relax (this takes a while, considering the state he’s in), and close his eyes. Then the doc starts counting backward, and I wonder if this is really gonna work, but I can see Hutch’s breathing deepening, and his hand slowly sliding off his leg to lay relaxed at his side.

“Detective Hutchinson, I’m going to take you back to the night you were abducted from your apartment. You arrived home ahead of your partner, because Detective Starsky made a stop at the post office. Do you remember what happened?”

I lean forward, elbows on my knees, listening intently.

Hutch is quiet for a minute, his eyes moving behind his lids like he’s watching a movie or something. “I walked inside, and immediately felt a pain…at the back of my head.” Hutch frowns.

“Did you see the men?”

“Not until I came to, later. But they were wearing masks then.”

Thorough questioning tells me that Hutch doesn’t remember anything about his captors that he hasn’t already told me. I indicate as much to the doctor, and he tells Hutch to think farther into his past. He begins asking him questions beginning with his childhood. With every correct answer, I can feel the smile widening on my face. My partner is remembering who he is.

When the Doc finally brings him out of the trance, I expect Hutch to be as elated as I am, but I’m disappointed. Hutch’s face as he opens his eyes is absolutely devastated.

“Have you retained your memory as I instructed, Detective Hutchinson?” the doctor asks.

Hutch nods, staring at the floor.

“Excellent. I’d like to talk to you now about your experiences while you were missing.”

“S-starsk—“Hutch says, not looking at me. “Do you mind leaving us alone for this part?”

I stand up. “Sure—no problem.” After all, Hutch has told me everything. Of course, if that’s the case, how come he wants to be alone with the doctor? I give him his space, though, and go into the waiting room. Half an hour later, Hutch appears and makes his next appointment at the front desk.

As we exit the building, I say, “What did I tell ya? You got your memory back! So how does it feel, buddy?”

Hutch slips his sunglasses on. “I don’t want to talk about it now, Starsk. Wait until we get home, okay?”

“Sure, okay, pal.” I pat him on the back affectionately, still marveling that the hypnosis actually worked. I’d assured Hutch that it would, but I’d had my doubts.

To my surprise, Hutch insists that I drop him off at his apartment for a while. At first, this upsets me. I mean, he’s been perfectly happy with me at my place. But as I drive home, I think about it. He’s just regained his memory. He probably wants to have his things around him. Before, he didn’t feel at home in his apartment.

When I get to my place, I shower, still thinking about Hutch and the way he looked after the doctor brought him out of hypnosis. I try to remember if I’ve ever seen that expression on my partner’s face, and then it hits me like ice water down my back. I have. After he came off the heroin withdrawal.

It was pure shame.

***

It was all I could do to look Starsky in the face after it all came back to me. It seemed like my memories were all behind this glass wall—I knew they were there, but couldn’t get to them, and then, in Shapiro’s office, that wall suddenly cracked and everything burst out. Old memories combined with new, giving me the big picture, and I just couldn’t take it.

 After Starsky left the room, I told the doctor everything, and I guess it was pretty obvious how I felt. He explained to me all the reasons I shouldn’t feel that way, but it was all just talk to me. He insisted I make another appointment to see him.

Now that I’m home, I’ve spent the past half hour in the bathroom puking my guts out. How am I going to live knowing I did those things? How could I possibly go back to work? Face Dobey and every other officer on the force? How can I arrest people for doing the same shit I’ve just spent the past few months doing? Remembering some of what I did sends me back to my knees in the bathroom.

The urge to run is too great to deny. I take a shower, grab a bag out of my closet, and start packing my clothes, thinking it would’ve been so much better if Starsky had never found me. If only I had made it on the bus out of town!

Once packed, I give my bedroom the once over, and as an afterthought, I grab the picture of me and Starsk during our days in the academy and put it in the bag. I zip it, shrug it onto my shoulder, and head through the darkened living room to the front door. Just as I put my hand on the knob, the lights come on. I swing around, and see Starsky sitting in the chair, his hand on the lamp switch.

A lot of things run through my mind—like, he must’ve come in while I was in the shower.

He’s caught me leaving.

Please don’t make me look you in the eye, Starsk.

God, I love you.

“Where do you think you’re goin’?” he asks me, and I can hear the hurt and anger in his voice.

I don’t answer. He gets up and crosses the room almost casually. One hand goes up to lean on the door behind me, and he’s in my face. I can’t meet his gaze.

“You want to explain to me why your bag is packed and you’re leaving without a word to your partner? You wanna explain that, huh, Hutch?” I can feel his breath tickling my cheek, and I want to take him in my arms. Instead, I swallow and look at the wall.

Starsky reaches up and yanks my duffel bag off my shoulder and throws it on the ground. I force myself to look at him then. What he sees in my eyes, I’m not sure, but his face softens. “Oh, Hutch. You gotta know better than to think you can run from me. I’d find you…it’d just be a matter of time.”

I can feel my defenses lowering. I try to harden my heart, but this is Starsky.

“I-I’m sorry. It’s not right to leave without an explanation.”

“It’s not right to leave. Period.” I move to look away, but Starsky follows the motion of my face with his, forcing me to focus on him. “We’re a team, Hutch.”

“I…” my voice breaks, and I clear my throat before trying again. “I was hustling out there, Starsky. Having sex for money. With men.” I stare at him hard, now, willing the words to sink in. Because surely my partner has never completely faced the facts.

“You were making a living,” Starsky says quietly. “You didn’t have anything but the clothes on your back. Not your wallet, not your jacket, nothin’. You had nowhere to turn.”

“Yeah? Well why the hell didn’t I get a job washing dishes? Or bagging groceries? I stood out on a corner and purposely attracted men to me so I could go back in the alley and suck their cocks for cash!” My words are cutting, but Starsky doesn’t flinch. I continue, determined to make him see me for what I now am. “And more than that, Starsky. I went with them and did whatever they wanted. I let them touch me. I let them fuck me! And then what do I do? I seduce my best friend! My partner! I fall on the ground and suck you off just like you’re one of those Johns! I take your feelings for me—purer than any feelings anybody’s ever had for me—and I use them to get you into my bed! I’m a goddamn fucking whore, Starsky!”

Starsky’s eyes are wet by the time I finish my tirade, but his words are calm, quiet, and steely. “Don’t you ever let me hear you talk about my partner like that again,” he says in a low voice. “He’s the finest man I’ve ever known. I don’t care what he’s done.”

I can’t help it. His words break me, and I crumble. He takes me in his strong arms and holds on while I sob like a baby. I can’t stop. “Starsky!” I rasp into his shirt, wet with my tears. “How can I be a cop now? After everything I did out there?”

Starsky rubs his hand along the back of my head. “You just do it, Hutch. You go out on the streets with a new perspective on what these people go through. They have hearts and families and lives just like everyone else. And you know that first hand now. This has made you a _better_ person, Hutch. A _stronger_ and better cop.”

God, how does this man do it? How does he take the most degrading and base moments of my life and turn them into something _heroic_? I hold onto him tighter, clutching his back.

“And what about what I’ve done to you, Starsk?” I whisper. He kisses my ear.

“Oh, yeah…how’m I gonna forgive you for that?” Starsky rubs his nose in my hair. “Let’s see, you’ve made me the happiest sap on earth, for one.” He shakes his head. “Despicable. You’ve loved me like nobody ever has before…Contemptible!”

“Starsky…” I raise my head and look into his laughing eyes. “Be serious. You can’t tell me you ever thought about making it with me before I propositioned you in that hotel room.”

Starsky puts his hands on each side of my face, wiping away tears with his thumbs. “Never more than maybe a passing thought, but Hutch…why didn’t we ever think of it before? Huh? We’ve loved each other from the start. This was a long time coming, pal, and you can’t suck up all the credit for it.”

I look at him like he’s lost it. Maybe he has. I try to shake my head, but he won’t let me. He holds me still and kisses me, his lips burning a path to my heart. “I love you, dummy,” he says an inch from my mouth. “We’re gonna be okay, I promise. Better than okay. We’re gonna be terrific!”

So I suck it up. For him. God, I’d do anything for him. He kisses me again, harder this time, his tongue pushing inside my mouth and claiming ownership. Taking my hand, he leads me to my bedroom, kicking my duffel bag out of the way and into the corner. Pulling me down on the bed, he whispers silkily, “I’m gonna show you how much I love you and what we have together.” He begins unbuttoning his shirt, and I watch mesmerized. Next he shimmies out of his jeans. I apply my shaking hands to my own clothes, and soon we’re both naked and in each other’s arms.

“I want you to take me, Hutch. This is a partnership, and we’re equal.”

I look into his dark blue eyes, my heart beating rapidly. “Starsky…”

“Don’t argue with me,” he says, and he means it. I get the lube out of the drawer and kiss him longingly, my hands working their way down his body until I’m playing with his balls. As he relaxes into the kiss, I go lower, taking a blob of the lubricant and massaging it into his crack, wetting the puckered crevice before slipping a finger in. Starsky arches, his eyes on mine. I slide the digit in and out, slowly, slowly, then insert another finger, and another, until he’s stretched out to my satisfaction. Then it’s my cock that’s entering him. I pull him tightly to me, the two of us on our sides and slowly moving back and forth, loving the delicious feeling of being one with each other.

Starsky’s making little gasping noises, good noises, and I quicken my pace, slamming into him smooth and hard, rubbing on his prostate until he’s hoarse from crying out my name. I’ve got him in my blood, in my soul, in my heart. I’m so full of him, I want to cry, and suddenly I am crying as I thrust harder and deeper, pulling his body to me with my arm. He’s grabbed hold of the brass rung at the top of my bed, holding on while I send him to heaven and back. I feel his climax rising…the muscles of his stomach tensing beneath my hand and I hit my peak, stilling for a second before convulsing in an ecstasy of shallow thrusts. Starsky shouts my name, along with a few choice swear words mixed with endearments, and cums all over the sheets.

We lie there, replete, breathing hard.

***

Two months go by, and I’ve about given up hoping when we finally get a lead on Hutch’s kidnapping. A dealer Hutch busted two years ago got the wild hair up his ass that he was gonna make Hutch pay for embarrassing him in front of his buddies the day he arrested him. I remember the bust now, and how I’d been under the weather that day and sort of let Hutch take the lead while I remained in the background. Hutch had been angry about the guy selling to high school kids and had become particularly nasty during the arrest, which had taken place in the middle of a poker game. The creep was such small potatoes, he wasn’t exactly a prime candidate for pulling off a kidnapping. Plus he’s been out of jail a year now. Who would’ve thought the wound to his pride had been festering all this time? The Arizona police arrested him and his pals when they stopped them for a minor traffic violation and found he had priors. A search of the car turned up a small amount of cocaine along with Hutch’s badge, which the hoods had planned to pin to his body when they dumped it. The cops followed up on that, and the rest is history. That note to me had been left under my door just before they took Hutch. I guess they thought killing my partner was good enough punishment for me. All I can say is, it’s really lucky for them they didn’t get to follow through with it.

Hutch was released by the precinct psychiatrist to go back on duty two weeks ago, and he’s been fairing well. Our relationship has only gotten stronger. The resilience of my partner always amazes me, probably because he’s so damn gentle, caring, and sympathetic, it’s easy to forget he’s also strong, brave, and determined. He’s made it through all this shit and come out on the other side a stronger person and a better cop. He says it’s because of me, but that ain’t it. It’s all him. I love him so much, it hurts sometimes.

I guess if this all had to happen to get us together the way we are now, it was worth it. At least, Hutch says it was, so I gotta agree with him. After all, he’s the one who’s gone through the most. Last week we went to where Joey’s uncle had him buried, and Hutch put a big bouquet of flowers by his headstone. He’s told me all that happened between them, and I have to appreciate the guy for helping Hutch when he needed somebody most. Sounds like he really held him together. Poor kid, he was way too young to go. The fact that he wanted to fix his life makes it all the more sad that he lost his chance.

So where do we go from here? I guess me and Hutch are gonna have to plug along and just learn to hide the new aspect of our relationship. It won’t be easy, but I figure we can get through it, so long as we’re together. After all, me and thee has never let us down before.

 

_finis_

 

 


End file.
